CHAPTER X.

TUNNELLING AT MACON, GA.

In a camp of eighteen hundred, with always some sick, there would be no time in the night when some were not going to or returning from the sinks; so that seeing anyone moving about camp in the night attracted no particular notice. One would dig and fill haversacks or bags, and another, with an overcoat on, would carry it concealed beneath that garment to some place that had been selected as a dumping ground and deposit it, returning to the shed by a roundabout way so as not to attract attention. After a well had been sunk about five feet, the tunnel proper would be started horizontally, in the direction desired, always keeping as accurate a measure of the distance tunnelled as possible. When it came time to suspend operations for the night, boards that had been previously prepared, would be fitted in the well, two feet below the surface, and covered over with some of the earth that had been removed, always being careful to put the old dirt that had been preserved on top, thus giving the surface the same appearance as the rest of the ground; all would then be carefully swept over, and all traces of new or fresh earth removed. The bunk would then be replaced and everything resume the careless appearance of everyday life.

So cautiously would this work be carried on that officers sleeping only a few feet away would not be disturbed, and never suspect that anything unusual had been going on. Thus, night after night, would the work be prosecuted, the men spelling each other in digging and doing sentry duty, until, by careful measurement, it was ascertained that the tunnel had reached a sufficient distance beyond the stockade to insure an escape. No one in the prison, except those engaged in the work, would be let into the secret until the work was completed and the tunnel was to be opened. This secrecy was necessary to prevent a curious crowd from hanging around, which would attract the attention of the rebs, who, in blissful ignorance of any plot, would sing out: “Post number fo, twelve o’clock, and a-l-l’s w-e-l-l. Post number six, twelve o’clock, and a-l-l’s w-e-l-l!” When, perhaps, some wakeful wag of a Yankee prisoner would answer: “Post number fo, twelve o’clock, and the Confederacy has gone to h—l,” in the same sing-song way the reb guard had just given it. Sometimes the Johnnies would take all of this good-naturedly, and at others would call out: “Here, you Yanks, if youens don’t keep still I’ll shoot in thar,” which would have the effect of quieting them for a time.

On the 17th of May, we were moved into the stockade, and it was not long before we commenced prospecting to find an opening for an escape.

A tunnel was commenced almost immediately, but after working ten nights upon it, it was discovered and filled up. This did not discourage them, however; they must have something to occupy their time; and although we were busy all day building sheds, this did not prevent us from trying nights to find a way out of our confinement. When the first tunnel was discovered, that had just been started, all hands were fell into line, and a general search was made for tunnels, but none were discovered. On the next day, however, Captain Tabb succeeded in discovering another, and in an altercation with Maj. Pasco, of the 16th Connecticut, who was claiming that he had a right to escape whenever he could, slapped the Major in the face for asserting his rights. This was a cowardly act, for Tabb was not only armed, but surrounded by a guard, while, of course, Major Pasco was an unarmed prisoner. It made a fellow’s blood boil to witness and suffer such indignities; but what could we do under such circumstances? To resist was certain death, while to submit was a mortification and humiliation that it was hard for a proud-spirited officer to submit to, in the presence of his comrades. All we could do was to hoot and hiss him from a safe distance, and chaff and exasperate him by sneering, deriding and laughing at him; so that although he was the king, and we the subjects, we managed to insert in the crown he wore, more thorns than laurels. On the second day after the discovery of this second tunnel, Tabb had a platform built on the northwest corner of the stockade, and another on the opposite side, upon each of which he mounted a twelve-pounder brass-piece.

Here was a good chance to have some fun, and as we watched the progress of the erection of the platforms and mounting of the guns, we indulged in all sorts of comments and criticisms. Some one would sing out, “Say, Captain, get a good, strong force behind that gun when you fire it, to catch it when it goes over;” “Say, Johnny, that gun is like the Irishman’s musket, there’ll be more danger behind it than in front;” “Tabb, when you fire that gun, just stand plumb behind it, and we’ll be satisfied;” “I’ll let you shoot that gun at me for a dollar a shot, and take Confederate money, if you will pull the laniard yourself.” “How is it that Lee never found you out, and placed you in command of his engineer corps or artillery, instead of keeping such a genius here, guarding Yankee prisoners, with no chance of immortalizing yourself?” “Barnum would make a fortune out of you. Why, he paid five thousand dollars once for a fellow that wasn’t half as big a humbug, and done well out of the speculation.” “Oh! go soak your head.” “Don’t shoot, Tabb; we won’t tunnel any more.” “We don’t want to get away; we just dig a little once in a while for exercise.” “You can’t drive us out of the Confederacy with that gun; we have come to stay.”

Such exasperating expressions were kept up from morning till night, for the two days they were at work erecting these guns on the frail platforms, to prevent tunnelling. But these precautions did not for a moment interfere with our tunnelling, and while we were thus pestering Tabb, others were busy preparing other avenues of escape. Two tunnels were started simultaneously, one commencing in an old building on the east side of the camp, and the other in what was called No. 7 Squad, which was on the opposite side of the stockade. The one on the east side was already to open, and the one on the west nearly ready, when they were both discovered and filled up. There was strong evidence of treachery in the discovery of these tunnels, as Captain Tabb went directly to both of them, and seemed to know just where to find them.

There was at this time in the prison, one Hartswell Silver, who claimed to be a Captain in the 16th Illinois Cavalry, but who was generally believed to be a spy, placed in there to detect our efforts at escape, and to him was attributed the disclosure of our plot. Had these two tunnels been completed, at least half of the officers would have escaped, and as the force guarding us was small at that time, there is no doubt but that the majority of us would have succeeded in getting away. In fact the evening before, two or three officers escaped, by crawling under the stockade, where the branch or stream entered the camp. They were fired upon by the guard, and one was brought back. The long roll was sounded and the whole force turned out in expectation of a general break. All officers were notified that any one leaving their quarters, even to go to the sink, would be fired upon by the guard. A great excitement prevailed among the rebs all night, which was aggravated by those in their bunks calling out every little while—“Corporal of the guard post number fo.” “Dry up there will you.” “Oh! give us a rest.” “Louder old pudden head.” “What’s the matter with you.” “Put him out.” “Shoot him.” “Lie down.” “Tabb try your big gun on this fellow,” and like expressions, making a perfect uproar in camp all night long. After a moment’s silence, some fellow would imitate the plaintive caterwaling of a cat, another barking like a hound, and another would answer from away off with the deep bark of the mastiff, another would crow like a cock. Sleep was out of the question, you might as well try to quiet a barroom full of drunken politicians who had elected their favorite candidate as to keep those fellows still. Once in a while the guard would call out, “keep still there you Yanks or I’ll shoot in there,” when some one at a safe distance would sing out “Put him in the guard house.” “Buck and gag him.” “Stone the loafer,” etc., and so it kept on during the whole night.

The next morning Tabb had two more field pieces planted in the woods to the south of our camp, and horsemen appeared with hounds to track and capture the fugitives, but for some reason they could not get on the right trail and only succeeded in treeing a coon. There were several other escapes about this time. One by Lieut. H. Lee Clark, 2d Massachusetts H. A., who sought out Miss Frankie Richardson, who made arrangements to help him out of the city, but this same Hartswell Silver, who was boarding there, betrayed him and he was brought back again. This Silver was paroled the day the tunnels were discovered and was never in camp afterwards, and it is just as well for him that he was not, for, as the boys said, Silver was at that time at a premium, and would have been higher, if he had put in an appearance. Lieut. Frost, 85th New York, also escaped in a reb uniform, as did several others, and Lieutenant Wilson of the regulars was sent out in the sutler’s vegetable box. This Lieutenant Wilson was an Englishman, and I think belonged to the regular army.

MR. CASHMEYER’S SUTLER WAGON, MACON, GA.

Mr. Cashmeyer came in one afternoon, as was his daily custom, with his cart, driven by a negro. Upon the cart was a dry goods box, filled with potatoes, onions, cabbage, turnips, bacon, beef, eggs, &c., which he usually disposed of to the Yankee sutler and others whose means justified them in purchasing, in what we call large quantities. He stopped as usual, at the shanty of the camp sutler, and there sold out his load. While he was in the shanty settling up, the crowd as usual gathered around his cart, and this Lieut. Wilson clambered into the box on the cart, while the crowd stood about the door of the shanty, the negro driver all the time maintaining that stolid look of innocence, so peculiar to the race, as he (the Lieutenant) was covered with empty sacks, that had contained the vegetables. And when Mr. Cashmeyer mounted the seat beside the driver, and left the camp, he was as innocent of helping a Yankee to escape, as the innocent looking negro seemed to be. The negro drove directly to the barn and unharnessed the mule, and as it was nearly dark, went to his quarters. The Lieutenant finding himself alone clambered out of the box and started off. Taking the railroad, he walked about five miles, when, as he said, he met a man who looked very fierce and who asked him where he came from, and where he was going. And after giving an equivocal answer the man asked him if he was not a Yankee officer, which he was too scrupulous to deny, and gave himself up, and allowed himself to be brought back, although the man who brought him back was like himself unarmed. But as he said on his return, the man spoke so gruff like, and looked so stern, that he thought there was no use of remonstrating. We nicknamed him George Washington, and tried to find a little hatchet for him, as an emblem of his innocence and truthfulness. As he remained in prison for a long time thereafter however, I think he may have regretted before he was exchanged, the conscientious scruples that would not allow him to tell a lie, even for the sake of freeing himself from the jeers of his comrades, and the tortures of prison life, which he had to endure afterwards.

It was a long time before he heard the last about that daring attempt to escape and the heroic defence he made against that unarmed reb who had recaptured and brought him back, and the desperate and successful resistance he had made against the temptation to tell a lie.

There is not an officer living who witnessed it, but will remember the celebration we held on the 4th of July. I will here quote what I that day briefly wrote in my diary of this celebration.

The day dawned bright and beautiful. I was up before the sun and prepared breakfast for Captains Hock, Cady and myself, which consisted of corn bread and butter, fried eggs, fried potatoes and coffee.

Our thoughts, now more than ever, turned towards the loved ones at home, who we see in imagination, with cheerful faces and bright smiles, hailing another anniversary of the day upon which our glorious republic was born, and methinks I can sometimes detect a shade of sadness flitting over the joyous features of kind friends, as the memory of the loved and absent is briefly recalled.

As we were being fell in for roll call, an officer displayed a miniature flag bearing the stars and stripes, which was greeted with cheer after cheer, by eighteen hundred prisoners. All gathered around that little emblem of liberty, and while every heart seemed bursting with patriotic enthusiasm, a thousand voices joined in singing that old song, which never fails to fire the patriotic heart—The Star Spangled Banner. After roll call, the officers by a common impulse assembled in and about the main building, in the center of the camp, and the services were opened by singing “Rally ’Round the Flag,” by the entire audience, after which Chaplain Dixon was called upon for prayer. He appealed in eloquent terms in behalf of our beloved but distracted country, for the success of our cause, for the President of the United States and all in authority, for universal freedom all over our land and the world, and for the speedy return of peace, when we could beat our swords into plow shares, and our spears into pruning hooks.

At the conclusion of the prayer, the entire congregation joined in singing “My Country ’Tis of Thee.” Captain Henry Ives was then called for, and mounting the platform gave us a very eloquent and stirring address. He was followed by Lieut. Ogden, 1st Wisconsin Cavalry, Lieutenant Leigh, 132nd New York, Captain E. N. Lee, 5th Michigan Cavalry, Captain Kellog, Chaplain Whitney, Chaplain Dixon and Lieut. Col. Thorp, 1st New York dragoons. I have during my life participated in a great many Fourth of July celebrations, but I never before—and I believe every officer at that time in Macon will say the same for himself—really and truly appreciated what a genuine celebration of the day meant.

If a stranger had come into camp Oglethorp at 3 o’clock that afternoon, he would have thought every man in prison was drunk, so intense was the enthusiasm, and yet there had not been a drop of anything of an intoxicating nature, to be had at any price for two months. Officers were drunk with excitement. The sight of that little flag that had been presented to Captain Todd by his sweetheart and smuggled into prison, sewed up in the lining of his vest, when shown in the morning, had created a degree of patriotic excitement that could not be kept down, and when some one said that Gibbs was coming in with a guard to take that flag, and suggested that it be secreted, a thousand voices shouted—stand by the flag boys—no traitor’s hand shall touch that flag—keep her swinging—there’s not rebs enough in Macon to take that flag to-day, &c.,—and I really and firmly believe that a terrible and bloody struggle would have ensued, had there been any attempt on the part of the authorities, to interfere with it or take it from us. I never saw men wrought up to such a pitch of excitement, and the rebs were afraid all day, that an attempt would be made to assault the stockade and break out. From nine o’clock in the morning until three in the afternoon, the celebration was kept up, with speaking and singing, when finally the rebel commandant sent in his officer of the day, who said we had been permitted to have a good celebration, and now he wished us to quietly adjourn which we did; giving three hearty cheers for the flag, three for Lincoln, and three for the cause. No officer who participated in this celebration can ever forget it while reason holds its sway.

Lieutenant Col. Thorp who had made a ringing speech, full of patriotic fire and enthusiastic confidence in the justice of our cause, and the ability of the Northern soldiers to maintain our national unity, restore the glorious old flag, with the stains of treason cleansed from its shining folds by the blood of loyal hearts, with not a star missing from its azure field, urged with the most impassioned eloquence, every officer in that prison pen to consecrate himself anew on this sacred day, to the cause of universal liberty, and the perpetuity of our national institutions, and pledge himself anew beneath that beautiful little emblem of freedom, to never sheathe his sword, until every traitor in all this broad land had kneeled beneath its tattered and blood-stained folds, and humbly craved the pardon of an outraged people, for their dastardly attempt to trail it in the filthy slough of Secession. I cannot pretend to give his words, and cannot fitly portray the fierce impetuosity, with which his scathing sentences were hurled like red hot shot into the ranks of treason. It was one of the most masterly efforts of patriotic eloquence I ever listened to, and when he had finished his address, which had been heartily applauded throughout, his hearers were wrought up to such a pitch of patriotic frenzy, that I really believe that had he at its close, called upon that unarmed crowd to follow him in an assault against the wooden stockade that surrounded us, that few would have been found to lag behind. He was at that time senior officer in the camp, and as such had been assigned by Col. Gibbs, the rebel commandant, to the command of the prison inside.

But shortly after this speech, a notice was posted on the side of the large building where this meeting had been held, removing him from the position, for making an inflammatory speech, and appointing another officer to the place. Col. Thorpe seemed to feel almost as much pride in this recognition of his effort at a Fourth of July speech, as in the applause he had received from his prison companions, or as he would had he been complimented on the field by his superior for a dashing cavalry charge, and the compliment was all the more appreciated because it had been paid to him so unconsciously by Col. Gibbs.

The stockade at Macon was built of inch pine boards, twelve feet long, put up endwise and made as tight as possible. On the outside of this fence, and about four feet from the top, was a platform for the sentry to walk on, where they could keep a lookout over the camp to see that we were not trying to escape. Upon this platform were posted sentinels at intervals of about thirty yards, with instructions to shoot any prisoner who touched or attempted to pass the dead line, which was a row of stakes, or sometimes a fence of light slats, such as a farmer would build to keep his chickens or ducks from roaming, and was about twenty-five feet from the stockade. The original object in establishing the dead line was a precaution against a sudden raid on the stockade, but it often afforded an excuse for some cowardly guard to shoot a Yankee prisoner, who inadvertantly came near enough to place his hand against it. We were not allowed to hang our clothes on this fence to dry, and on no account could a prisoner pass it with impunity.

CHAPTER XI.

This letter, as I have said, was sent through all right, whether it was because they did not read it or because they failed to discover the satire—perhaps it should like Nasby’s have been labelled a joke—I never knew. The next was written in the same vein, after I had escaped and been recaptured. Both had been published in the daily papers here, at the time, but the last one I have thus far failed to find. It was written after my escape and recapture, and detailed how, rather than risk the scene that would be sure to ensue, should I announce my intention of departing to my friend, the Confederate Colonel, and fearing I might be overcome by such an affecting leavetaking, that I concluded to start at three o’clock in the morning, while he was still sleeping, and thus spare not only him, but myself, an interview that would certainly be embarrassing to one or both of us.

But that, after I had traveled three hundred miles, his couriers overtook me, and were so urgent in their appeals for me to return, that I could not deny them, and had concluded to stay and see a little more of this beautiful Southern country before my return. But just as soon as I could persuade my friends to consent to my departure, I should surely return, and would try and make my friends in the North a good long visit, at least, before making another journey.

My letters were generally received by my friends in due time, but although they were promptly answered I never received a line to tell me whether my wife, who left for Newbern on the night of the first day’s fight, had got home or not, and when I was finally released, after nearly a year’s confinement, I did not know whether she was living or dead until I telegraphed from Annapolis and received an answer. We resorted to all sorts of devices to get letters through to our friends in the North, that contained matter that we were aware the Confederate authorities would not permit. I once wrote a short note in ink on a page of foolscap, and then filled up the sheet with a long letter, written with soda, which would be invisible until heated. My short note was an acrostic, and taking the first word of each line and reading it down formed this sentence: “I write with soda.”

But this letter never reached its destination. The reb authorities soon got onto these dodges, and were very careful in their examination of all correspondence of prisoners, and everything that looked at all suspicious was destroyed.

I only received one letter while I was in prison, and that was from Col. James W. Savage, of my regiment, which, for brevity and news, I think I never saw equalled. I have the letter yet, soiled, faded and worn, but quote it entire:

On the 14th of June the first box of letters were received in camp, and as the adjutant mounted a table and called off the names, eager hands were held out to receive a missive from home; and to show my feelings I quote from my diary of that date:

“I listened with bated breath to hear my name called, but the last letter was called off, and I was obliged to turn away disappointed, as were a good many others. It seems too bad that even this comfort must be denied me. I feel as though I was dead to the outer world, and only for hope, of which I always possessed a good share, I believe I should die.

“If I could only get a letter from home, and know that my wife had arrived safely and knew of my safety, I could better bear this imprisonment; but this uncertainty and suspense is enough to drive one mad.”

I quote this to show how blue it made us feel, after having waited so long, hoping that a mail would come, and then find that it contained nothing for us; it made us envious of those who had been more fortunate.

Not getting any letters, made us doubt whether the ones we had written home, had ever reached their destination. Here is a modest order I had sent in my last. Please send me two pounds of dried peaches, five of coffee, five of corn starch, ten of sugar, two of tea, one bar of castile soap, four cans condensed milk, one codfish, five of dried beef, one of cheese, two cotton shirts, two pair drawers, thread, etc. Oh, what visions of good living were mine, while I waited for the arrival of the box containing all of these good things, but that box never came. I was not starving, far from it, I had plenty to eat such as it was, and in this respect was much better off than the most of my comrades, but I so longed for something from home, something to remind me that I was remembered. It was the subject of my thoughts through the day, and of my dreams at night; and I used to have such vivid dreams of home, that after I had been paroled and returned, I have stood and looked around and pinched myself, to be sure that I was really out of prison, and not merely dreaming again, fearful lest I should wake up, as I so frequently had, to find myself still a prisoner.

I had so frequently had such vivid dreams of home, and as frequently awoke with such a feeling of despair and anguish, when I found I was still a prisoner, that even in my dreams, I would doubt the truth of what seemed so evident to me, and would look about for some familiar object, and say as I saw something I recognized, I know now that this cannot be a dream. The first place I would make for when I arrived at Oswego, in my dreams, was the old Fitzhugh House, which at that time was the first class house of the city, and order a dinner, determined to have a good square meal the first thing, even before visiting my family. These dreams had become so frequent, and seemed so real, and the reaction so great when I awoke to the consciousness that it was only a dream, that I could scarcely suppress a wail of despair, as the truth was forced upon me, that I was still in that rebel pen, surrounded by an armed guard, with no prospect of release, and little chance of escape, I can scarcely command language to fitly describe my feelings at such times.

On the 10th of June the following officers were called out, it was understood, to be sent to Charleston, to be placed under fire of our batteries on Morris Island: Generals Wessels, Seymour, Shaler, Scammon and Hickman; Colonels Grove, Hawkins, Harrison, Lehman, LaGrange, Lee, White, Bollinger, Brown, Dana, Fordella; Lieutenant Colonels Burnham, Baldwin, Bartholomew, Cook, Dickinson, Fellows, Fairbanks, Glenn, Hays, Hunter, Higginbotham, Joslyn, Mackin, Mills, Maxwell, Mahew, Moffit, Alcott, Postley, Rodgers, Hepford, Stuart, Swift, Taylor, Lascella, and Majors Beers, Baker, Bates, Clark, Carpenter, Crandall, Grant, Hall and Johnson. We were quite in hopes that these officers were to be exchanged. I again quote from my diary of this date: “Exchange stock in this market has been very dull, but is advancing a little to-day. I do not take any stock yet.”

In a few days, forty-four fresh fish came in from Grant’s army, which gave us nearly our full number again, and as every few days brought us fresh additions, we soon had considerable more than when they were sent away. These officers all brought us cheering news from the seat of war, and strengthened our confidence in the ultimate triumph of our cause, but could give us but little encouragement in regard to exchange. In fact those in the field seemed to be too actively engaged in breaking up the Confederacy, to give much thought to their comrades in prison, or what provisions were being made for their release.

CHAPTER XII.

Lieut. Rogers said: “I was very young at the time, though a Lieutenant in the Confederate service, and was detailed to transport the Yankee prisoners from Macon to Charleston. I was very particular to instruct my men to be very vigilant, as the prisoners they were guarding were no ordinary fellows, but were a shrewd, sharp lot of Yankee officers, and would need a heap of watching; for if there was any chance to escape, they would improve it, and they must be constantly on the alert to prevent any of them getting away. Savannah was passed without any trouble, the Yankees seeming to enjoy themselves, singing, laughing and joking, and they and the guard seemed to be on the best of terms. Charleston was reached, and I proceeded to turn over my prisoners and turn them into the jail yard. I had been congratulating myself upon the successful accomplishment of my mission, when, upon counting them into the jail yard, what was my horror to ascertain, that I was thirty-four Yankee officers, and four guards short.

Instead of going to headquarters and reporting the situation, I sat down upon the curbstone in front of the jail to collect my thoughts, and consider what I should do.

While I was sitting there brooding over the affair, and feeling about as blue as though I was myself a prisoner, a Captain rode up and inquired if I was Lieut. Rogers and was in command of the guard, that brought the Yankee prisoners from Macon. I told him I was, and he told me I was ordered to report to the General’s headquarters under arrest. I went up to headquarters, not knowing whether I was to be shot or sent to prison, but concluded to make a clean breast of it, and tell all there was about it.

The General listened to my story, and after keeping me in suspense for what seemed to me to be a long time, released me from arrest, and told me to go back to Macon with the balance of my men, and be careful that I didn’t lose any on my way back.

The Lieutenant continued, I never afterwards heard from either the prisoners or my men. I didn’t care so much about the Yankee prisoners getting away, but would like to have got my guard back.

He did not know whether they were killed by the Yankee prisoners or had been induced by them to desert, the latter however, is the most probable, but as I have never heard from any of them since, I am equally in the dark concerning the affair, and, like the Lieutenant, can only guess at what took place.

The next day we were notified to be ready that evening, and that night we were counted out and placed on board the cars. Instead of taking us to Charleston, as we had been told they would, we were stopped at Savannah, and placed in the United States marine hospital yard, around which a stockade had been built, thus spoiling our plans of escape. “The best laid plans of mice and men aft gang aglee.” This was a yard of about two acres, quite well shaded with live oak trees, some of which grew to enormous dimensions, one on the south side, spreading over nearly or quite a hundred feet of ground. Here we drew rations of fresh beef, the first in many months, and our rations were generally better than we had heretofore received. We were strictly guarded, but, with few exceptions, were well treated. Colonel Wayne, of the 1st Georgia Regulars, was in command, who designated Colonel F. C. Miller, 147th New York, as senior officer of the camp, and all communications were forwarded through him.

Of course almost the first thing to do when we had got fairly settled in a new prison, was to commence a tunnel. Two were started, and had progressed nearly to completion, when as in Macon, these were both discovered and filled up. Another was soon started in a different direction, and was already to open, which would have given egress to half the camp, when, by a most unfortunate accident, it was discovered on the morning preceding the night we were to make the break. We had reached within a few inches of the surface, and ten minutes’ work would complete the opening, but it was so near daylight we thought we would be already that night, and get a good early start the next.

That morning, however, as the sentry was watching a cow cropping the grass just outside the camp, what was his surprise to see her suddenly break through and nearly disappear. Of course an investigation showed what had been done, and again had our toil been in vain—no, not in vain, for it had kept us employed, and diverted our minds from the misery of our situation.

While in Savannah, we built ourselves what is known as the old fashioned Dutch oven, in which we could bake our pomes. To the younger readers a description of this oven may be interesting. A flat stone was secured about two feet square, for the bottom, and around and over this stone was erected an oven of stone, brick and mortar, capable of holding about four good sized pomes. Wood was then split up fine, and a good rousing fire built, and kept up until the oven was thoroughly heated, when it would be filled to its capacity with pomes, the different messes taking turns to do their baking, and in half an hour after closing the oven up tight, they would be taken out nicely baked, and when properly made, afforded a very palatable meal. In order to have them light, we would mix up a quart or so of corn meal in cold water, and set in the sun to sour. The pome was then mixed in the same way, stirring in a little of this sour rising and adding a little soda. This sour meal was kept on hand, so as to have enough for three or four days ahead.

A corn dodger was made in the same way, but was made the size of a large biscuit, and was baked in a skillet with an iron cover, a fire being built both over and under the skillet, and when not made light by the use of this sour rising and soda, would make a dangerous missile to throw at a man or dog.

Having now served an apprenticeship of about four months as cook for the mess, I flattered myself that I was qualified to take charge of any first class restaurant as chief cook and bottle washer, and I would bring my corn pome on the table, with all the pride with which a young wife, would present her best efforts at cooking to a tea party. And when I had wheat flour, I would be just a little put out, if my biscuit did not receive the fulsome praise I thought they were entitled to. Our rations in Savannah, were more liberal than they had been during our captivity, and by buying such things as were not issued to us, we always had a little ahead.

Colonel Wayne issued an order after the discovery of this first tunnel, that in order to give a better chance for inspection, tents must be raised three and a half feet from the ground. This order was usually complied with, but some claiming that they had no lumber, neglected to do as directed, and the result was that a detail was sent in, and removed sixteen tents that had not yet been raised, causing much inconvienence and suffering to those former occupants, as that night a severe storm came up, and being without shelter, many were drenched to the skin. These tents were returned in a day or two however, by recommendation of the surgeon in charge. Platforms were built at different points, upon which were built fires at night, to better enable the guard to see what was going on inside. Around these fires we would gather and sing old army songs, which served to put a little spirit into us.

WASHING CLOTHES AT SAVANNAH, GA.

These fires, while they were not built for our comfort or convenience, really were both to us. They drove away the musquitoes and purified and warmed the chill, night air, thus making it more comfortable sleeping than it would otherwise have been. On the 2d of August an order came for our two Chaplains and seven surgeons to be ready to leave for parole. It was a day both of joy and gloom. We had learned to love those two earnest christian soldiers, who had been so faithful to us, and were sorry to part with them, though we rejoiced at their good fortune and fondly hoped that it might be our turn soon. Most of them took with them only what they were sure to need, and freely gave to their most intimate comrades all else that could be of any value to them. But to show the difference in the dispositions of people, I wish to refer to two cases as illustrations of distinct sides of human nature. Dr. Robert Rae had a fine case of surgical instruments, which, although valuable to him, even after he was free, he gave to Adjutant H. H. Lyman, 147th New York, telling him they could be sold for money enough to subsist him for some time.

The other case is that of Dr. Brets, who had a mattress and some other camp property, that would be of no earthly use to him and which he could not take with him, so he magnanimously consented to sell them to the highest bidder, which happened to be Captain Hock of my mess. This mattress was quite a comfort to us and we were glad to get it, even at the exorbitant price we were obliged to pay. We did not begrudge the generous Doctor the greenbacks we paid him, and hope he is still living to enjoy them, for to such a generous soul, a few dollars, more or less, must be a great source of comfort. If I could find out his address, I would donate him a copy of this volume, just to show my gratitude. Before leaving, the Chaplains had a rousing farewell meeting, and each delivered a brief but eloquent address, and amid hearty hand-shakings and fervent God bless you’s, they took their way out of the camp. Only one officer escaped while we were at Savannah—Captain Sampson, 2d Mass. H. A., and he was soon recaptured and brought back.

He escaped by crawling out through a hole under the high board fence and tried to reach the fort on the coast about six miles away, but the swamps were simply impassible, and after wandering about through water and mud nearly knee deep for two or three days, was obliged to abandon the attempt to reach the coast, and was arrested by a patrol, who accidentally run upon him while he was trying to extricate himself from the impassible swamp.

He said that at one time he was in sight of the fort, but the water deepened so fast as he approached the shore, that he was obliged to retrace his steps.

It was a source of some little comfort to us to be once more within hearing of the morning and evening guns of a Union fort, but surrounded as we were by the guard of a hostile enemy, how long a distance that six miles seemed.

While at Savannah we were also furnished kettles, in which to heat water for washing our clothes; and as we had no extra changes of clothing, some ludicrous scenes were witnessed while the washing and drying was going on.

Lieut. Abbot, while boiling his clothing, tied a blanket around his waist until they were dry enough to wear again, making him look like an old woman, and while thus employed was sketched by an artist named Dahl, and presented with his own picture.

On the 13th of September we were placed on board the cars and arrived at Charleston the same evening, where we were placed in the jail yard, to be knocked out by General Gilmore’s batteries on Morris Island. This was without exception the most filthy, lousy, dirty place I ever saw. There were only fifty A tents for six hundred prisoners, and scarcely any wood with which to cook our rations. At Charleston occurred the first death by starvation that I had witnessed, the deceased being a member of my company.

Soon after we entered the jail yard Capt. Hock and myself were greeted by two skeletons, whom we never would have recognized had they not made themselves known to us. They were reduced to mere skin and bone, and neither could walk, being on the very verge of death from starvation. As soon as possible I made them some gruel and tried to nurse them back to life. We fed them sparingly through the evening and then left them a pot of food to eat during the night, being particular to caution them not to eat too much, Sergeant Sweet, who was the stronger of the two, promising to be careful of his comrade, who could not be depended upon to control his craving for food. In the night this poor fellow crawled near enough to reach the pot of food while the Sergeant was asleep and ate it all.

It was his last meal on earth, for his poor starved stomach was too weak to endure so much, and the next morning he was dead. The guard carried him outside the dead line, where he lay all day, festering in the sun, and would not let me approach near enough to spread a blanket over his dead form, to hide the sight from our gaze.

There were a number of negroes belonging to some Massachusetts regiment, confined in jail, but were not allowed to come down into the yard. They were beautiful singers, and entertained us almost every evening while we remained there. This, with one exception, was the only sound that gave us any pleasure.

We could hear the boom of Gilmore’s guns on Morris Island, and watch the course of the shell he was every fifteen minutes tossing into the doomed city. Two or three times pieces of shell fell inside the yard, one piece cutting off a limb of the locust tree that was at the time affording me shade, while I was reading one of those old Harper’s that I brought along.

The only escape made from the jail yard was by Lieut. H. Lee Clark, 2nd Mass. H. A., who bought a reb lieutenant’s uniform, and walked out without a question. He was subsequently brought back, however. Upon his return to the jail yard he gave the following narrative of his escape:

As he passed out of the gate, the sentry seeing his uniform and insignia of rank, faced and came to a present arms, which he answered by a salute, and passed on. Being now free from the prison, he started off, but being a stranger in the city, he did not exactly know what direction to take.

He had wandered about for some time, trying to think of some plan to reach our lines, when his attention was attracted by two ladies who seemed to be watching his movements, from the stoop of a house that looked as though it was occupied by people in moderate circumstances. After passing and repassing the house two or three times, he concluded to try to get something to eat there, and for this purpose approached the ladies. They asked him into the house and set a lunch before him, and thinking he would be safer here than in the street, he concluded to stay as long as possible. He found the conversation of the ladies entertaining, and by cautiously drawing them out in conversation, he found them to be strongly tinctured with union sentiments. Finally after satisfying himself that it would be safe to do so, he told them who and what he was, and appealed to them for shelter and protection, until he could devise some plan for leaving the city.

This they cheerfully promised, and also agreed to assist him to the utmost of their ability. They kept him at their house two or three days, until they could exchange his officer’s uniform for that of a private, and then procured him a pass, as their brother, to visit Sullivan’s Island, which was opposite Morris Island, and at one place was only separated from it by about three hundred yards.

This Island was reached by steamer and was strongly fortified. The bay between there and Morris Island was full of torpedoes to prevent attack by water.

He roamed about the Island all day, trying to find some means of crossing, but could discover no boat, not even a plank that would sustain his weight.

He staid on the Island all night and tried again the next day to find some means to get across the short belt of water to Morris Island. He could not swim, and not a board was to be found that would assist him in his extremity.

He was without food and was now taken ill, and was finally obliged to go back to Charleston, and give himself up, when he was placed in the hospital, and after his recovery, sent back to prison.

September 26th, we were told that if we would give our parole not to attempt to escape, good quarters would be furnished us, and as escape from here seemed impossible, we gladly accepted the proposition.

Upon giving our parole eighty of us were sent to a house on Broad Street, which looked out on the bay. It was a three story, white house, with wide piazzas facing the water, and just across the street were bath houses, that we were permitted to use whenever we pleased. Here for the first time since we were placed in the pen at Macon, we had the facilities for cleanliness so necessary to insure good health. Then in the evening we could sit out on the piazza, and, looking down the bay, see the flash of the guns five miles away, anon hearing sharp quick reports, and then watch the course of the shell by the trail of fire, as it pursued its course into the city, while we amused ourselves by singing and commenting upon the bombardment.

We were visited almost daily by the Sisters of Mercy—God bless these brave, noble women—who brought in delicacies for the sick, and tobacco for those that used it, which they gave freely to those without means to buy, or sold to those who were able to pay. They also traded Confederate money for our greenbacks, giving us better rates than we could get elsewhere. Then they would take the greenbacks to the reb prisoners on Morris Island, for they had free access through both lines in prosecuting their christian duty, and they were worthy of the confidence of both governments, as they never acted the part of spy for either. Braving every danger, and only intent on doing service for the Master, and relieving suffering wherever they could find it. How many of our poor boys, who were brought there from Andersonville, and were suffering from disease and starvation, were soothed, nursed and comforted by those noble women. May God reward them for all their self sacrifice, all their tedious pilgrimages, from one camp to another, all their weary watching beside the squalid pallets of the wretched suffering heroes, despite the hurtling missiles of death, that were flying in every direction about the city; nothing daunted or deterred them from making their regular daily visits, though I know of one instance, (and it was probably only one of many,) where a shell struck and burst only a few feet in front of the carriage that was bringing them to our quarters.

They were frightened badly, and what woman would not be, but this did not deter them from making their daily visits to the sick and suffering soldiers of both armies, and doing all in their power to alleviate distress, feeding the hungry, and watching by the bedside of the dying, administering the consolation of Christian faith and hope to those who were passing away, their only reward the consciousness of a duty well performed. “Verily they shall have their reward.”

On the 5th of October we were again on board a train, and this time our destination was Columbia, the capital of South Carolina. We were placed in box cars, with two guards at each door, some of the same men who had been guarding us while in Charleston, and with whom we had been on terms of intimacy, we having been allowed many privileges while on parole, and had not been under as strict surveillance as heretofore, being permitted to go in and out during the day, whenever we pleased, and had gained the confidence of our guardians to such an extent, that they did not think it necessary to watch us very closely. This we thought would be a good chance to escape. It was agreed between us that Captains Cady, Hock and Eastmond and Lieut. Masters should jump from the car, which was running only about ten or twelve miles an hour, and I was to go on to Columbia with our baggage, of which we had considerable, so that in case of recapture, they would not lose all of this, to us, valuable property, but would again be in condition to commence housekeeping. Cady and Masters sat in the door with their legs hanging out, and I sat beside the guard, and after dark got into conversation with him. I had a pine stick which I was whittling, and as he would frequently bring his gun to an order beside me, I managed to remove the cap from his gun, and insert this pine stick into the tube.

This I communicated to my comrades. I then went back, and, standing alongside of this verdant reb, soon had him in good humor by getting off some funny yarns, joking, laughing and keeping him amused by swapping lies with him, until he thought I was one of the jolliest Yanks he had ever seen. And I did feel jolly, for I had a dead sure thing on him. We finally got on such friendly terms that he asked me to hold his gun while he took off his shoe to see what in h—l it was hurt his foot so; some dog gone thing was pestering him awfully; he reckoned it was a dog gone peg sticking up thar. Now was their time, and if I only had his belt containing the caps and cartridges, it would have been my time, too. We were passing through a swampy piece of woods, and none of us knew how deep it was or how far to high ground; but Capt. Cady and Lieut. Masters took in the situation and jumped. To show myself worthy of the confidence he had reposed in me, I snapped the old musket, but that only served to drive the pine plug more securely into the tube, and by the time he had put on a new cap they were out of range, even if the gun had been discharged. He exploded the cap, however, in the direction of the fugitives, and then relieved himself by cursing the d—n old gun; but my zeal was duly recognized, and our friendship was more firmly cemented than ever, as I was so mad to think they would play such a scurvy trick, especially while I was on guard. It was not long before the frequent report of arms told us that others were making a “jump for life and liberty.”

About one hundred and fifty jumped from the cars and escaped into the swamp that night, and amidst all the firing there was not one hurt that I ever heard of. After Cady and Masters jumped, the guard at the opposite door was so watchful that Hock and Eastman could not get a chance to escape.

Had I not promised to stay on board and take care of the baggage, I should have taken the gun and followed Cady and Masters, which I think would more than ever convince my reb friend that I was zealous in the performance of military duty. I could see from my position in the door, dark objects leaping from the car in front, followed by a streak of fire from the gun of one of the guards, showing that the caps had not all been replaced with pine plugs, though I was told afterwards that a number of caps had been removed. I think the safest way, however, to prevent a gun going off, is when you remove the cap, to insert a plug into the tube. We were a jolly crowd that night, that passed through the swampy country between Charleston and Columbia, for it was fun to see our comrades getting away, and witness the frantic efforts of the guard to prevent them. Officers were shouting to their men to shoot the d—n Yankees, and the guards were doing their level best to obey orders.

But they had been deceived by the apparent submissiveness of the Yankees, and as I heard the fellow say whose gun I had fixed, “I didn’t think they would do such a dog gone trick on me, when I’d used them so well.” He seemed to lose confidence in all but me, and was mad all through, to think that the fellows he had treated like gentlemen should thus abuse his confidence.

We could have easily captured the whole force and taken the train if we had made an organized effort. But the great trouble was to get officers to obey orders and follow instructions; all wanted to be bosses. I would rather go into action with one regiment of enlisted men than with a whole division of brigadiers.

This fact probably accounts for the rebs always keeping the officers and enlisted men in separate prisons.

We arrived at Columbia October 6th, about 4 p. m., and were at once turned into a field of about five acres, on a sort of side hill. We had not drawn any rations during the day, and having had no opportunity to cook the raw rations we brought from Charleston, or buy anything to eat on the road, we were half starved.

There had been no preparation made for our coming, and the bakers were obliged to fire up and bake bread to feed this unexpected addition to their customers. This, of course, took time, and to men with empty stomachs the hours seemed like days. Women come to the fence that surrounded our camp, with pies, cakes, biscuits and other provisions to sell, and done a thriving business while provisions lasted; but the stock was soon sold out, and yet only a few had been fed. They only had to come to the fence with what they had to sell, and it was bought at whatever price was placed upon it.

I had just bought some bread of one of these venders, when Lieutenant H. Lee Clark, 2d Massachusetts H. A., came up and asked a woman the price of a pie, which she told him was five dollars; he handed her the five dollars, and was reaching through the fence for the pie, when one of the guard that had been placed in the camp, gave him a bayonet thrust in the back, without a word of warning or an order to fall back. It was a terrible thrust and made a wound three-fourths of an inch wide and one and a half inches deep, near the spine. A number of us saw it and watched for this fellow to come on guard again that night, but fortunately for him and perhaps for us, he was relieved and did not again make his appearance. If he had, we had determined to settle him quietly with a stone. An old wooden freight house formed the west boundary of our camp, and under it was stored a quantity of bacon. A number of hams were fished out by means of a hook attached to a long pole, and some even crawled under it to get their rations. Finally about dark, rations of white bread, warm from the ovens, were served and this, with the stolen bacon, made us a good hearty supper.

About this time a terrible rain storm came up, accompanied by a cold northwest wind, which caused intense suffering to those who had no shelter; and as none had any except such as could be made with blankets, nearly all were all that night exposed to one of the worst storms I ever experienced. As was my custom on going into camp, the first thing I did was to gather some boards and improvise a tent from our blankets, using some for a floor on which to place our mattress. This afforded but slight protection from such a terrible storm of wind and rain as that night swept down upon us, but over one thousand of the twelve hundred officers were destitute of even this slight protection, and many were suffering from wounds and disease. To those it was a night of terrible suffering such as few ever experienced before or since. In such a drenching rain fires were impossible, and there was nothing for them to do but tramp all night long in the wind and rain, to keep from perishing. Yet above the howling tempest and amid the drenching rain, could be heard the cheering chorus, “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching.”

Water was running down the slope in torrents, forming miniature rivers as the storm progressed, cutting deep furrows in the soft clay soil, and covering the whole camp with water and mud nearly ankle deep. Few who passed that night of the 6th of October, 1864, in the prisoners’ camp at Columbia, will ever forget it while they live.

The next day we were asked to again give our parole, in which case we would be placed in a beautiful grove about three miles out, where we would have all the facilities for cleanliness and comfort that we could desire. We rather thought we would first see this haven of bliss, and then decide for ourselves about the bargain.

We hung our wet blankets up to dry in the sun which had come out once more to cheer us, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible during the day, not knowing where we were to go next. About four o’clock, teams were brought up to the fence along the road, and we were ordered to load on our traps and get ready to move into camp. Not having much baggage, we were soon ready and the line was formed, and we were again on the march. We had not gone more than half a mile, when we passed the building where was manufactured the Confederate money with which to carry on this great rebellion.

The windows were illuminated with the bright faces of about a hundred young ladies, who were employed in this great printing house, and some of the boys failed to keep step as they cast furtive glances in the direction of the upper story windows, some even going so far as to give a salute that was made a good deal like throwing a kiss, while a few cheeky fellows, who seemed to have forgotten their manners during their long imprisonment, actually had the audacity to sing out: “Say, sis, chuck me down a roll of Confed. Got any new issue to spare? Give us a bundle; you can make more.” But what surprised me most, the girls seemed to enjoy all this chaffing, and some of them actually attempted to get up a flirtation with the detested Yankee prisoners, waving handkerchiefs, throwing kisses, and making such remarks as: “Ain’t he handsome? Oh! look at that fat fellow; ain’t he a daisy,” &c., keeping up a chatter loud enough for us to hear until the whole column had passed.

After a march of three miles, we turned into a ploughed field that was bounded on three sides by what new settlers in the back woods call a slashing. There was not a tent or shelter of any kind, and this was the place that we had been told would afford us every facility for cleanliness and comfort, and for which we had been asked to give our parole.

A guard was formed around this field and we were turned in like so many mules into a corral. For fear of losing our mattress and other camp equipages, if we loaded them on the cart, we fortunately decided to lug them, not knowing how much of a tramp we had to make, and although it was a hard lug, we were well repaid for our labor when we reached the camp, for while many lost things that were invaluable to them, in that they could not be replaced, we were ready to go to housekeeping at once, when we were ordered to break ranks.

Like squatters in a new country, each man was permitted to select his location, and I at once pre-empted a dry knoll, under the shade of a pine tree, as a suitable place to squat and, dumping our household goods there, proceeded at once to improvise a shelter and skirmish around for something for supper.

Again, thanks to Doctor Brets’ generosity (?) our mattress, which we had tugged on our shoulders for three miles, came into play to make us a comfortable bed on the ground, and, after such a supper as we could pick up, and a good smoke, we curled up in our blankets and lay down to dream of home and sumptuous dinners. While we were thus comparatively comfortable that night, there were a thousand of our less fortunate comrades who spread their still damp blankets on the cold wet ground, and almost supperless, passed a night of sleepless misery. The next week I spent in building a brush tent. I received permission to take an axe and go outside the camp, under guard, and cut brush and limbs to build it with. I cut six posts and planted them firmly in the ground, putting poles across to make a ridge tent, and then thatched the steep roof with pine boughs, making it water proof. It required a good deal of labor to complete the quarters, but when done it was warm and comfortable. Having completed our quarters, and got everything snug, I made up my mind that I would like to move North.